On Faith and Values: Why I am a birdwatcher

Birds, it seems to me, get a wholly undeserved bad rap from the English language.

For starters, if something is deemed worthless or foolish, it’s called “for the birds.” If I forget something or am chronically a bit scattered, I’m a “bird brain,” or perhaps an “odd bird.” If it’s more serious than that, I may even be a complete cuckoo. When I attempt to do something without properly preparing for it, I’ll end up just winging it, which is never good. If, as a result, I then mess the entire endeavor up, I’ve laid an egg—which may mean my goose is cooked. At the very least, it increases my chances of chickening out the next time. Or, perhaps, becoming a lame duck.

You get the point. However, despite all that, I’m here for you, birds. You don’t deserve that, and you have my full support. Lately I’ve even become something of an avid birdwatcher, largely because I believe my life would be a lot better if I went about it in a more bird-like way.

Here’s the thing: Jesus, though never spotted with binoculars, seems to have been a bit of a birder. In what many regard as his most important collection of teachings, the Sermon on the Mount, he made mention of our feathered companions in a way that really stays with me (though not as well as I’d like it to).

“Look at the birds!” he told the gathered crowd. “They don’t plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren’t you far more valuable to him than they are?”

I don’t think he was encouraging any of us to not plan for the future or to not devote ourselves to some kind of work for the benefit of ourselves, our families, and our communities. I do think, though, that he was making a pitch for adopting as much of the birds’ carefree and confident approach to life as we can.

As one who has frittered away an enormous amount of time over the years sweating and fretting over my life, I’d love to take him up on it—which is why I now make a concerted effort to pay attention to the birds that are almost always nearby. They have become winged reminders, suggesting that I, to use a very spiritual term, just chill out a bit.

Fretting has never been especially—or even remotely—helpful, but it can be a difficult habit to shake. So, observing the birds in the trees around the house, the ones that fly overhead, and the ones that show up at my wife’s feeder and birdbath is very helpful. I watch what they’re up to and tell myself, “Look at the birds!”

It’s a good feeling.

The birds aren’t worked up about much because they sense, as Jesus also noted during the Sermon on the Mount, that “your heavenly Father knows all your needs.” So, he knows mine, too. And what I don’t need, because he also added this rhetorical question that day: “Can all your worries add a single moment to your life?”

In a very gratuitous gesture, God took the time to make birds in an endless variety of amazing colors, feather patterns, and sizes; he gave them the knowledge and ability to take epic migration journeys; he provided them with the ability to communicate with each other; and he designed many of them to form communities of support and protection for one another. If he did that for a part of his creation that he values far less than he does us humans, it’s fun to imagine the time and care he takes with us every day.

There’s a lot to be learned from the birds, including another English expression, one that I aspire to: I’d like to get better at living “free as a bird.”